The Eternal Night
by InanimateZeus
Summary: A series of Dark!Harry One-Shots, which may or may not be covered in a single arc. Contains: The Eternal Night and Master of Death stories. See my profile on for individual stories.
1. The Eternal Night

Harry Potter had gone out to get the mail just like his Uncle had ordered when he had noticed the most odd occurrence - there was a letter addressed to him. Folding the letter and hiding it under his shirt, he handed the rest of the stack to his Uncle as he walked out of the room and into the shed in the backyard for some privacy.

Opening the letter, he read the scarce amount of information on the yellowed sheets of parchment. He was a wizard. It made so much sense to him, all of the odd things that happened around him when he got emotional. His Aunt's irrational hatred of his mother, their fear of the word magic and anything having to do with it, why Harry was not allowed to ask questions. They knew -- they _**knew**_ what he was and what he could do was normal - normal enough to warrant an entire school dedicated to it - and they had treated him like an abomination anyway.

Green eyes began to burn with fire as he read over the letter in his hands. It was not enough that his relatives knew but this entire time the Wizarding world _**knew **_how he was treated by his so-called family, the letter itself was addressed very specifically to the cupboard beneath the stairs.

He calmed his breathing down as the rest of the shed began to rattle with his anger, his power - no, his _magic _- began to fluctuate rapidly. Anger would do him nothing at this point but tip his hand to his relatives - they did not know that he knew about his magic now. Besides that he did not want to deprive himself of the satisfaction of revenge by just killing his relatives out of passion, when and _if _he allowed them the satisfaction of death it would be with a clear mind.

There was a second letter detailing directions on how to get to Diagon Alley as well as what the school supplies were. He folded that up and placed it in a pocket while crumbling the first letter and envelope in a closed fist. Pulling up all of the hatred and anger he felt he could once again feel his magic rising, bubbling and hissing in agitation parallel to his own. Now that he knew about it there was the possibility that he could control it consciously, after all what would they teach at a school about magic _but _control. Pulsing that energy in his clenched fist, he just kept thinking _**burn**_,_** burn**_,_** burn**_,_** burn**_.

Black flamed engulfed his hand as the letter turned to ash, disintegrating under the obviously hot flames, but his hand was not burning at all. Tendrils of flame licked at his arm but rather than scorching pain like he expected it felt like a warm, comforting touch. It was curious, he noticed that as the flame continued to burn that his emotions became more and more numb, almost as if his anger and hatred were fuel to it. With a thought he ordered the flame to cease and to his surprise it did just that. Harry felt quite a bit more lighthearted after torching the letter, as if a piece of his burden had been lifted. Trying to call up the fire again, he found that he could not. Whereas before his magic was bubbling and hissing in anger, now it was simply churning like a vortex or a whirlpool, moving slowly and steadily.

He closed his eyes and pictured times during his life when he had been angry but unable to express it and sure enough his pool of magic began spitting and hissing once more in agitation. Ordering the black flame to engulf his hand, he opened his eyes and smiled at the fire radiating from his clenched fist. Besides his first instinct to call the new ability cool, he recognized how convenient it would be to be able to call up flame at will. The air around the flame was warped with the aura of heat, energy radiating from the black fire indicating that it was obviously hotter than any flame he had seen before. Interesting, he noted idly as he commanded the flame to gather in a ball the size of a baseball.

As the flames took form he noticed that it did not draw as much energy as when it had been in direct contact with his hand, especially when he began to toss the ball of energy between his hands like a fireball. His emotions also were not draining as quickly as before, allowing him to hold on to his hate and anger for a larger amount of time.

Smirking darkly, he canceled the black flames as he walked back into the house. Harry was going to take a nap until nighttime when he would be able to get first-hand experience with just how powerful that fire ability was.

The rest of the day passed quickly when at night Harry crept out of the cupboard and through the back door. Number fourteen of Privet Drive was just five houses down the road and it was the home of his childhood tormentor Piers Polkiss. His cousin Dudley was also spending the night there, which made the place an even better target for his ire. Pulling together memories of the two boys and their continual games of 'Harry-hunting' it was no difficult task to conjure up enough anger and hatred to form a large ball of black fire. It seemed as though his magic knew what he was doing, because beyond the hissing and spitting in agitation that he had come to assume was his magic reacting to his emotions, he could detect the undertones of malicious glee in it. Pulling his arm back, he tossed the fireball from a house over and watched as the house quickly went up in flames. Harry had to choke back on the maniacal laughter that threatened to escape him as he began to stealthily make it back into number four and his cupboard without bringing up notice.

_That night was the best night of sleep that he had ever gotten in number four of Privet Drive, _Harry noted as he woke up refreshed and energized. It was obvious that he had slept in well past dawn as light streamed into the dark cupboard through the cracks in the door. Getting dressed he growled as he noticed that his relatives had locked him inside the cupboard yet again. He had to stop himself from torching this house as well, as he decided to try something else with his power. Pulling at the well of energy that he felt inside of his body, he drew it to his skin as he mentally commanded it to unlock the door. Sizzling was heard as the latch literally melted and fell to the floor as a slag of metal.

He walked outside and noted with some satisfaction that firefighters were _still _trying to put out the blaze that had engulfed number fourteen. Petunia was weeping in her beefy husband's arms - whose mustache was quivering pathetically. Harry 1, Dudley 0. _**Stupid fools**_, he mocked at his relatives, they _**knew **_that he was going to come into a power that they could not defend themselves against yet for some reason they thought it was smart to bully and belittle the kid who could kill them without leaving any evidence behind.

Deciding that the flames had gone on long enough, he slowly commanded his black fire to recede into the nothingness from which it came. As the fire dissolved in front of everyone's eyes over the next hour, all that was left of the house and its residents was a scorched blotch on the ground. It had seemed as though his fire was water resistant, a fact which was entirely awesome.

That afternoon it was a subdued Vernon and Petunia Dursley who sat at the kitchen table of number four, eating cold chicken which had been ordered for lunch. _Now is the time to break that vile woman_, Harry thought cheerfully as he looked down at the table faux meekly. As Vernon was chewing, Harry pulsed a bit of power into his body and commanded it to cause his Uncle's throat to contract, choking him on the bit of food he had been eating.

Petunia's shrill scream was the only indication that it had worked as Harry raised his eyes. Putting on a fearful face, he began to scamper backwards and yell like would be expected of a child watching his Uncle suffocate to death. Only Vernon would see the dark grin on his face for a second, mentally saying _I win_ to the man who had spent his entire life making his existence Hell on Earth. Petunia tried pounding on his back but that would not work, not with his magic counteracting everything she tried to accomplish. She then tried to get her arms around the large man to perform the Heimlich maneuver but Vernon was way too obese for that to work. It had taken five minutes for Vernon Dursley to die, in a near agonizing pain as he suffocated and his throat contracted repeatedly.

Petunia Dursley had long by then called emergency services while sitting on the recliner in the living room, a broken shell of the woman she had once been. Her precious son and husband both killed in what appeared to be an accidental means but was in reality murder. Harry saw the light in her eyes vanish as he felt satisfaction, her pain filling the void in his heart created by her neglect. If he had some way to make her immortal he would have done so, to let her live for eternity in her pain. Because he was not going to kill her, but let her live with absolutely nothing to live for.

He smiled as an owl arrived in through the window, carrying yet another Hogwarts letter. They would want a reply, after all, and who was he to deny them that?


	2. Master of Death

"Why is it that even when I am dead, I cannot get the _fuck _away from you." Harry Potter snarled at the seemingly benevolent presence of Albus Dumbledore.

"My dear boy, whatever are you talking about?" It almost appeared to be honest confusion on the old man's face, but Harry knew the truth now. In life he had been blinded by the conniving old man's near omnipotence, but hunting the Horcruxes had jaded him, forced him to see the truth.

"I just took a god-damned _**Avada Kedavra **_to the face and the first thing I see is _you_."

"…" No answer to that. Granted, there never were _answers _whenever Albus Dumbledore was concerned, but a reason as to why would be nice. It was the least that he felt he deserved.

Harry almost smiled ruefully, thinking that some things just never change. "Eternity with Albus Dumbledore. Shit, Lucifer really does know his stuff, doesn't he?"

"…"

"No cryptic repartee? None of that 'it was all for the Greater Good' hypocritical bullshit you liked to slather on? Of course, the great Albus Dumbledore never really finished that statement out loud, did he? Whose greater good were you serving, you old arsehat? Was it the same _greater good _that you were serving when you were buggering Gellert Grindlewald? Or the same _greater good _that had allowed all of the muggleborn to die when you knew -- you _fucking _knew -- how to defeat Tom, but instead left me with almost nothing to work with, hoping that I would die in the process somehow. What were you doing all of those years of peace Albus, other than planning and cackling like the damned maniac you are?" Anger seemed to seep out of every pore of his, the floodgates of his rage having been opened driving him to an almost burning madness.

"Are you quite finished, yet?" Dumbledore calmly asked, which just served to piss him off even more. How could that old bastard be calm after everything he had put him through?

"All I wanted was to see my parents again. But no. Instead I get stuck with seeing you. Again. There's no such thing as too much shite to dump on my life, is there? Well fuck you too, fate, you dirty fucking whore." Harry yelled towards the heavens, where he imagined another old manipulative bitch who liked to interfere with his life.

"If you're quite done commiserating, we do have much to discuss." Oh, Harry seethed, now the old man was patronizing him.

"Sod off you old wanker. I've listened to you long enough in my life, I'll be damned if I listen to a word you have to say in my death as well."

"We don't have time for this, Harry." He almost sounded pleading. Like he was asking for something when really it was just another of his coated orders. No questions, no choice, just bend over to the mighty will of Lord Dumbles, the creator of Dark Lords and fashion designs. It was like being spiritually raped. Just take, take, take, until there was nothing left but a dirty feeling deep inside of him, leaving him emotionally dead behind dull green eyes.

"That's Mr. Potter to you, arsehole. Besides, what do you mean we 'don't have time for this?' I'm dead. Plenty of time to really, really wish that I had burnt that first Hogwarts letter and had never met your sorry arse. Shite, that means that all of those times that Petunia badmouthed you, she was right. Oh dear Merlin, Petunia was right all along. Now I have to think about what else that bitter old bitch was right about which I had just pushed aside. Because, as far as I can tell, she's alive and relatively happy, while I'm dead, in Hell and with _you_. Oh, dear. Was I a Dark Lord in some past life, or something? Did I kill children, rape women, and kick puppies? I must have."

"Mr. Potter, you must calm down!" Dumbledore yelled.

"Fuck you Dumbles!" screamed Harry, feeling the cathartic warmness settle in his heart at those words towards the manipulative old goat fucker.

"You are mistaken if you think you are going to remain dead." The old man gravelly said as if Harry just hadn't spit in his face.

"So you think you can tell me what to do even from beyond the grave? Is that it? Well, you can stick whatever plans it is that you boiled up with your pet Death Eater and shove them up your arse along with whatever else you keep up there. Speaking of your pet, where _is _old Snivelly? Surely he would be in Hell too. Because my torment is not yet complete, I mean, you and that pompous Death Eater are like two gay peas in a bum buggery pod -- you cannot have one without the other. Or is Lucifer going cheap on eternal torment these days?"

"You are not in Hell!" Dumbledore yelled, any decorum he may had shown previously being thrown out the window in exasperation.

Harry scoffed at that. "Just the fact that you're the one saying this to me disproves your theory. Because when I turned that stone over, _you _were most certainly not one of the ghosts accompanying me to my demise. If I had ever wanted to see your arse again, it would involve agonizing screams and most likely the substantial use of the _**Cruciatus**_. On you. I would be holding the wand, cackling madly. But as I have no wand and you are still sane, this must be Hell. Unless… _**Crucio!**_" He held his hand out, expecting a bolt of orange to impale the old man. When nothing happened, he sighed miserably. "Really should have known better than to get my hopes up. Alas, it seems that a massive amount of hatred does not make up for lack of a wand core, Hermione would have been thrilled to know that."

"Mr. Potter, will you _please _stop trying to curse me and listen. We don't have much time."

"Fine, whatever, say your peace if it'll get you to shut the fuck up." Harry eventually caved in, the voice of the expired old man grating at his nerves.

"Thank you. Now, because Voldemort used your blood to resurrect himself, as long as he is alive, you cannot die. You will wake up from this, able to continue on, if you wished to. The curse has removed the Horcrux from your body completely." Dumbledore explained, but Harry had the nagging feeling as if it was not the entire truth. Given that it was _Albus Dumbledore _saying it, it most likely wasn't the whole truth, but a bastardized version designed merely to keep him weak.

"So how much of that is a load of shite? From massive amounts of experience with the oh-so-classic Albus Dumbledore half-lie I would say that it is not the meaning that is false but the reasoning which led you to it. So I'm still alive. But it was not the blood. No… it was something more substantial than just something like blood or love. The Hallows, perhaps?" When Dumbledore flinched, however slightly, Harry grinned darkly. Thinking for a second, he realized a crucial fact -- the only thing he had been missing was the Elder Wand, which most likely had been in the old man's possession before he died. How convenient. "It's because I am the true master of the Hallows, isn't it? Draco disarmed you on the tower and I disarmed Draco, which makes me the Elder Wand's true master, because no one _but _you would have the Elder Wand from the tales, that was why Voldemort wanted Grindlewald so badly. But you beat old snake-face to the punch, didn't you? I did not die because I cannot die or I at least have a choice in the matter -- which is most likely why you said I have a choice. Because I do -- you knew that I would have a choice. After all, why would anyone else search out the Hallows if not to gain some form of immortality or advantage over death? I survived not from some divine mandate but because of my own bloody merits. I am the Master of the Death and you wanted me to believe otherwise. Oh, what a piece of work you are, you fucking old bastard." Harry laughed manically, having already been driven well beyond his breaking point. "What's the Muggle saying, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me?"

"…" Uncharacteristically, Dumbledore remained quiet, and unnaturally pale.

"So really the question is, if I am the Master of Death, why the Hell would your face be the one my subconscious conjured up? Granted, it's always funny to be reminded that you are dead, especially when I am not. It's like a joke that just never gets old. Here lies Albus Dumbledore, master manipulator, and all he had to show from it was a surprisingly accurate biography by Rita Skeeter and an ugly white mausoleum. For all his work in the world, struggling daily to maintain his power base and his large ring of gay lovers -- most of whom were all masters of the Dark Arts that he supposedly hated -- he is now merely an inadequate feast for the Thestrals of his once-beloved school. It has a certain flare to it, don't you agree?"

Broken, Dumbledore asked a final question. "Do you really hate me this much?"

"Oh, I cannot _believe _that I told that arsehat Scrimgeour that I was your man. Dear sweet Merlin, he probably thought I was in on your dark wizard buggery. It makes me feel dirty inside, and trust me on this -- I know dirty, I've had the dark lord inside of me since I was a baby. But even _he _doesn't make me feel as filthy as that. Is this why Tom hated you so much? Did you try and diddle his fiddle during a detention one time? Did you even ask for permission before you tried to inappropriately fondle and polish his Nimbus 2000?" As Albus moved to answer, Harry merely raised his hand and shook his head. "Don't even answer that. I don't want to know. I'm leaving now. Enjoy your time in Hell, you old bastard. **Fate** -- you dirty bitch -- take me back to that mess you have the audacity to call your plan."

He was not surprised in the slightest as the world around him shimmered out of view.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Waking up from his dream, the world around Harry quickly came into sharp focus. Even as the other Death Eaters swarmed around the fallen body of their Lord and Master. Picking up his stolen wand, he hissed "_**Accio **_Elder Wand." All of the Death Eaters looked toward him in surprise and shock, but Harry had no fears, not any longer. He was the Master of Death, after all.

Taking careful aim with his new wand, Harry playfully taunted his nemesis. "Hey Tom, guess what? _**Avada Kedavra**_." Disbelief showed on his bone-white face as the green curse washed over him, ending his life for good. Well, there was still a certain snake to take care of, but Harry merely had to dispose of it before Tom was resurrected again. It took Peter ten years to actually complete that ritual the last time, so there was no real rush.

Thinking about Peter, Harry turned around to see the rat scampering off with the rest of the cautiously abandoning troupe of Death Eaters. "Oh, hello Peter! How nice of you to stay! _**Accio **_Rat. _**Avada Kedavra**_." Watching his parents' betrayer expire, Harry noted with calm as he was hit with the _**Cruciatus **_by an old family friend of his, but curiously there was no pain involved. He would ponder that later, as right now he had to exact a little revenge.

"Bellatrix, you bitch, what a wonderful surprise. _**Crucio**_." For an agonizing twenty three seconds, Harry held the torture curse on the writing Bellatrix Lestrange, who had dropped her wand in shock when she thought her curse had failed against him. "_**Reducto**_." With that spell, her chest exploded, shards of bone, strips of flesh, and a pint of blood expelled outward in a dome of gore that left Harry feeling mighty righteous. Smirking, he noticed her sister who was looking at the rapidly cooling corpse in horror.

"Mrs. Malfoy, why, you look entirely… slutty, actually. It's a shame that you're a married woman. But before you die, I would like you to know -- I envy Draco if he was breast-fed. _**Avada Kedavra**_." Her look of repulsion turned to horror as the green curse washed over her. But the real prize was the angered horror on her husband's face who had ditched his wife and ran for the Forbidden Forest. It made Harry feel good knowing that the blond ponce would choose Acromantula and Centaurs over him as the lesser of two evils.

"Lucius! Why, Lucy, where are you going? Come back and play! _**Accio **_sissy. Wow! That actually worked. Huh. _**Reducto**_." He summoned the squirming man with the death stick in his hand, following it up with blowing off the man's skull. Lucius had been so proud of his hair in life and Harry had just denied the man the courtesy of an open casket. It was all somehow fitting.

Fenrir Greyback was leaping over felled trees in the opposite direction. But Harry was confident that his curse would be faster. Taking careful aim, he lined up the shot and called it out. "Oh, another ten points! _**Avada Kedavra**__._"There was a loud 'thud' as the dead body fell down, momentum brining the werewolf to a heavy stop.

Taking care of Greyback, Harry never noticed another person sneaking up on him. Some nameless Death Eater recruit had just hit him with the killing curse in the back. "And… who the bloody hell are you? Why, you're not even in the Inner Circle, you certainly don't stand a snowball's chance in Hell of beating me. You don't even have a name as far as I'm concerned. _**Reducto**_." In retaliation, Harry blew his wand arm off. "Oh, wow, that wound is bleeding badly, you may wish to have it checked out. Or, Dr. Potter could take a look if you wish? You do?" The sobbing man shook his head no as he held his bleeding stump of a wand arm. "_**Diffindo**_. Oh-- it's the other arm. _Right_. My bad, sorry." He smirked as he severed the man's other arm. Either he would bleed to death or he would never be able to harm an innocent again -- why not let Fate decide if the man should live or die?

Looking around, Harry pouted as all of the inner circle laid slain in the clearing, the rest of the Death Eaters having long since ran to their probable dooms lost in the Forbidden Forest. With two quick _**Accio **_charms, he summoned to himself his cloak and the resurrection stone that he had left behind. Donning his cloak, he noticed that Hagrid had been silenced and trussed up in the clearing. How they summoned rope strong enough to hog tie a half-giant he would never know. Nor would he want to.

Brown eyes stared terrified at him. Harry smirked in reply. Taking careful aim with the Death Stick, he bellowed "_**Obliviate**_." Hagrid would remember nothing but the remains of Tom Riddle being eaten by a pack of wild Thestrals, there would be no hero of the Second Wizarding War, no path to trace Harry back as the owner of the Elder Wand like both Voldemort and himself had to Albus Dumbledore.

Harry Potter would be the Master of Death. Forever, and always.


	3. For My Greater Good

Harry Potter smirked at the invisible form of Mundungus Fletcher, who was snoring loudly, just before he brained him with one of his Uncle Vernon's golf clubs. Giving the worthless thief a few extra whacks, he tossed the club aside. Ripping off the invisibility cloak, he began rifling through the unkept man's pockets, which were filled with an assortment of random junk and magical trinkets.

Tossing the junk aside, he pocketed the wand, which reacted decently enough to him, along with a coin purse which held a little over five Galleons and some change.

"Stupefy," Harry whispered with the stolen wand held at point-blank range, so there was no flash of light. That done, he pulled the invisibility cloak over the unconcious form of Fletcher. "Levicorpus."

Walking into the home with the thief invisibly floating behind him, Harry brought Fletcher into his room, where a stoppered bottle of Polyjuice potion was sitting on his desk, already having been charged with one of his hairs. Removing the stopper, he brought the potion to the man's lips, pouring it down slowly. Using his free hand, he rubbed Fletcher's throat to force the man to swallow the potion. Already, his skin began to bubble as his form slowly changed from Mundungus Fletcher into a doppelganger of Harry Potter. Once that was done, he dressed the man in a change of his normal, worn-out clothes.

"Sorry to have to do this to you, chap. But really, it's for the greater good. Avada Kedavra." Harry cast the killing curse at the Polyjuiced Fletcher, watching as the body went from even breaths into the cold stillness of death. It was one of the lesser-known properties of Polyjuice, that if the user were to die while in disguise, the body would forever remain in the disguised form. For all intents and purposes, Harry Potter was dead.

Looking around his room, he picked up the few things he wanted that had not made it into his trunk earlier. All that was out was his Firebolt and his invisibility cloak. Tapping his wand to the front of his trunk, he muttered "Reducio." What was once a large steamer trunk was now little more than the size of a box of matches. Perfect. Pocketing that, he made sure that everything looked relatively normal. It was well after midnight, so he could hear the loud braying that his relatives called snores echoing down the hallway.

Jiggling the handle, he frowned that the master bedroom was locked. "Alohomora." With a soft click, the door unlocked, which he opened and smirked at the frames of his relatives. Revenge would be his tonight. "Petrificus Totalus. Petrificus Totalus." Harry cast the paralization charm twice, that would ensure his relatives were awake and conscious for their grand finale, yet unable to move at all. Moving across the hallway, he repeated the actions on Dudley, who had been in his room, and Marge, who was in the guest room.

Satisfied that his relatives could not be saved, he went back into the hallway, sealing each door with a Colloportus spell. Pulling his invisibility cloak over his body, he walked out of the house and into the backyard, with his broom in one hand and the stolen wand in the other. Waving his wand at the house, he whispered "Colloportus," sealing all of the outer doors as well as the windows. It was a common Death Eater tactic when they went on Muggle raids, something that he had often seen in visions sent by the Dark Lord in great detail. "Protego Totalum." Harry cast a minor protective spell that would charm the house against physical damage, which meant that doors could not be busted down or walls broken out of.

"Aquamenti," he cast, covering the house in water, which he then transfigured into crude oil. Gold was almost impossible to transfigure without a philosopher stone, this was true, but water to oil, that was no problem for even the most average of wizards. Harry may not have been a Dumbledore, but even one normal person with but a touch of magic could wreak all sorts of Hell against the non-magical if they had just a bit of creativity and a lot of malice.

Now, Harry prepared for the final measure in the act. "Incendio." Beautiful.

"Morsmordre." There was nothing like a bit of misdirection, was there?

As number four went ablaze and the smell of burning oil filling the air, Harry Potter took to the skies, invisibly, at well over two hundred and fifty miles per hour. By the time that the magicals learned of the fire, he would be well beyond the borders of England. By the time that the apparent deaths of Harry Potter and his so-called family was reported to Dumbledore, his Order, and the Death Eaters, he would be on the opposite side of the world.

Harry knew that if what the prophecy reported was true, there was a good chance that Voldemort would eventually track him down, but that day was not today, nor would it be tomorrow.

So for the time being he would content himself with picking up small bits of gambling in Las Vegas. Who needed OWLS or NEWTS when you had the Imperio and the Obliviate spells? Who needed skill in texas hold-em when you could manage a wandless Confundus charm?

Sirius Black and the Potters did not all die to protect a weapon for Albus Dumbledore and his vision of the perfect world of magic. They died to give him life. The rest of the world could go and fuck itself for all he cared.


End file.
